


Dwimordene's 2006 Birthday Drabbles

by Dwimordene



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: General, Multi-Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4214929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dwimordene/pseuds/Dwimordene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NOTE: These are drabbles written by other authors as birthday fics. I don't want to delete because I don't know if any of them have a copy, but I also know I'll probably be offline for another year or more. Anyone who wants to claim their drabbles, please do so and just copy them to your account.</p><p> </p><p>I asked for drabbles on aging this year. Any species, any character(s), just focus on that phenomenon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Alas, for the dying of the trees" by Gandalfs apprentice

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Sometimes Gimli wished he had never learned Sindarin.

True, the books on Elven crafts betrayed secrets of wondrous skills that eluded even the finest Dwarven smiths.

And the luminous Elven music melded with the meaning of the poetry like gold and _mithril_ intertwined. 

But now, favoring his gouty foot, chafing his arthritic hands against the cold, and keenly aware that his beard matched the color of the snow, he feared the penalty was again come due: Legolas was gazing sorrowfully at the leafless trees.

"Spare me, Elf," he grumbled, "another endless lament whining about the sad passage of the years."


	2. "Alas, for the dying of the trees" by Gandalfs apprentice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I asked for drabbles on aging this year. Any species, any character(s), just focus on that phenomenon.

There had been roses in my hair the last time I saw him. My cousin's wedding to one of his soldiers, it had been. My hair had been dark then, long down my back. Now it is grey, bundled under a matron's veil.

We had danced, light-footedly gliding over the floor, my hands white against his black tunic. Now I am quickly short of breath, steps unsure, brown-spotted hands faintly trembling at times.

He does not recognise me. But when he entered Faramir's chamber, bringing hope and healing, I could smell the scent, the scent of roses of Imloth Melui.

~*~

A/N:  
\- "The weed is better than I thought. It reminds me of the roses of Imloth Melui when I was a lass, and no king could ask for better." (RotK, The Houses of Healing)

~*~ 

Imhiriel


	3. One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts - Gwynnyd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I asked for drabbles on aging this year. Any species, any character(s), just focus on that phenomenon.

I have no clue why my drabble muse insists on ideas that can't be handled in less than ficlets. And this is possibly not strictly canonical, for various readings of LaCE.

I hope your birthday was a very happy one, and that this suits. It also, as a real departure for me, contains some 'adult' material. 1900 words.  


[One Equal Temper of Heroic Hearts](http://astele.co.uk/henneth/Chapter/stories/chapter.cfm?STID=6176)

Happy Belated Birthday!


	4. With Age Comes Responsibility - by Vistula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I asked for drabbles on aging this year. Any species, any character(s), just focus on that phenomenon.

_I hate weeds._

Pulling angrily at a tenacious stalk, Sam grumbled to the grass.

_Now fishin’,_ he thought, shaking a fat worm from the clotted roots, _that’d be the way to spend this here sunny afternoon. Not weedin’…_

“Sam? Is something wrong?” Frodo’s soft voice was at once amused and disturbed. “You seem to be pulling up Cousin Bilbo’s marigolds.”

Shamefaced, the lad glared mutely at the victim in his hands.

“Weeding could wait. Why don’t you join the other lads…?”

“Cain’t, Mister Frodo,” Sam answered morosely. “I be getting’ too old for playin’ all day. I got re..responstabilities now.”


End file.
